Summary

Various Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 34, November 19…

There are depths in the soul of a Frenchman, where the inspiration of mighty words breeds like "flies in the shambles." Such a soul has GAMBETTA. He is all language. If you were to cut him up in little bits and put each atom under a microscope, you would find in every molecule the text of some proclamation. The genii of syntax and prosody are his guardian angels, and the love of "gabble" is the be-all and the end-all of his political existence. He loves not GARIBALDI. He would have done violence to his grandmother rather than consent to the invitation of the Italian liberator.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 34, November 19…

Remarks a young lady near us, who is dressed with much wealth of contrasting colors:—"This isn't half so nice as the Italian opera. Miss RICHINGS can't dress half so nicely as Miss KELLOGG, and then you don't see any fashionable people here. The DAVIDS, the ABRAHAMS, the AARONS, the NOAHS, that handsome Mr. JACOBS, and that delightful Mr. MOSES,—all these elegant young men with beautiful eyes and curly hair that dress in velvet coats and diamond studs—there isn't one of them here. Our best society never goes to any opera but the real Italian opera."
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 34, November 19…

The Poet having now advanced so far in his work as to make a very respectable collection of poems, and beginning to run short of matter, casts his eyes around him in search of aid, hoping to find inspiration in some fortuitous moment from the many little incidents that are always occurring, and which only observing minds would notice. For the time he sees nothing that would suggest even to the most sparkling intellect the shadow of a rhyme, and he begins to be in despair.
Source: Gutenberg

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